


For Worse or For Much, Much Worse

by Lady Divine (fhartz91)



Category: Glee
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, mention of Blaine and Klaine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:40:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/Lady%20Divine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning of his wedding, Kurt wakes up in a hotel room, completely hungover, not quite sure what happened the night before. </p><p>He doesn’t know where he is.</p><p>He doesn’t know where his fiance is.</p><p>And neither does the go-go dancer he might have slept with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Worse or For Much, Much Worse

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for mention of Klaine/Blaine/Eli, sex, drug and alcohol use.

_“Oh holy hell…”_

He hears the words; feels them ricochet around the inside of his skull like a pinball on fire before he realizes that he’s the one talking.

“Oh holy hell…what the fuck…my brain feels like I’ve run it through a meat grinder.”

“Well, that’s what a Blow Job will do to you,” a somewhat familiar though vaguely unfamiliar voice grumbles from somewhere nearby.

In too much mortal agony to open his eyes, Kurt rolls his head on the mattress and glares as best he can with closed lids in the direction of the voice.

“Excuse me?” he growls, menacing but quiet so as not to wake the wasps that are rattling inside his head.

“A Blow Job shot?” the voice clarifies with a chuckle that sounds like a gun shot when it reaches Kurt’s ears. “Coffee liqueur, Irish Cream, and vodka. The vodka was optional but you said the more, the merrier.”

“A Blow Job will make you feel like your head’s about to explode?” Kurt groans, his eyes burning to the point of tears – hot, unwelcome, uncontrollable tears.

“No,” the voice replies. “But fifteen might.”

“Fifteen?” Kurt gasps, keeping his voice low once the wave of nausea churning on the horizon of his waking brain starts to build.

“Yeah, well,” the voice says, grunting with its body’s efforts to move, “that’s where I stopped counting.”

“That’s just great.” Kurt pries his eyes open slowly, so slowly that if he keeps it up at this rate he’ll have them open by next June.

Too bad it’s October.

“That’s fucking great. And by the way…” Kurt’s eyes open a bit wider, but shut immediately at the flood of white light burning his retinas. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Who the fuck am I?” the voice says, sounding less offended than Kurt would have expected. “I’m Sebastian. Sebastian Smythe.”

Kurt crinkles his face when the name doesn’t strike any bells.

“I’m the guy you were doing body shots off of last night.”

“You’re the go-go dancer.” Kurt gasps again, and this time he almost lurches forward and vomits from a mixture of the pounding in his skull which has traveled with lightning speed all throughout his body, and the shame of realizing how far gone he had to be to bring a go-go dancer back to his hotel room. “From the bachelor party.”

“Right-y oh, princess,” Sebastian says, shuffling around the room, doing what Kurt can only guess. The man could be robbing him blind for all he knew, since at the moment he _was_ blind. “Holy and shit.”

“What?” Kurt scrabbles to stand, but something akin to karmic hatred slams him back down to the bed. He did something debasing and stupid…really, REALLY monumentally stupid, and now he’s going to pay. Let Sebastian take everything he has, as long as the man leaves him with at least one kidney he’ll feel justly punished. He just wants this to end as quickly as possible so he can get back to his life.

 _There’s_ a mess he’s not looking forward to cleaning up.

“Now, I don’t want you to freak out,” Sebastian says, his voice laden with humor and a dash of sympathy, “but by the looks of this hotel room someone had a lot of fun last night, and it might have been us.”

That gets Kurt’s body moving. His eyes snap open, the light shocking his optical nerve so that all he sees is a big white blur. Every synapse in his body fires, and even though he feels like he’s swimming through caramel in a pool that reeks of stale beer and old vomit, he somehow leaps out of bed, standing on wobbly, uncooperative feet. An arm grabs him and holds him steady, for which Kurt is grateful, but realizing there’s only one person in the room and therefore only one person that arm can belong to, he almost immediately shrugs it away.

“Well, excuse me,” Sebastian snarls. Kurt should feel guilty for being such a jerk seeing as the man, go-go dancer or no, is only trying to help, but as his eyes focus on the room he’s in, he becomes completely numb. The floor is littered with condom wrappers and their used counterparts, alongside empty packets of lube, two drained champagne bottles, and a pair of fuzzy handcuffs.

Kurt should have been mortified…he would have been if it wasn’t for one other, tiny, slightly important thing.

That is to say, _person_.

“But…but I don’t understand,” Kurt mutters through the fog that has him trapped, keeping him from thinking too hard or too clearly about anything. “What happened to Blaine?”

“Blaine?” Sebastian repeats. “Who the hell is Blaine?”

“Blaine,” Kurt repeats, as if saying the name again will help jog Sebastian’s memory. When all he does is return an exaggerated dumbfounded stare, Kurt gets profoundly annoyed. “Blaine? My fiancé Blaine? The man I’m supposed to be marrying today?”

“Look, Lady Face, I get it,” Sebastian says, putting a finger to his pursed lips, attempting to shush Kurt. “You don’t have to shout. And I don’t remember a _Blaine_. Though there could have been. Who knows? I mean, I was about seventeen sheets to the wind myself. Fuck, I barely remember you.”

“Right,” Kurt consoles himself. “I mean, two people couldn’t possibly have gone through all those condoms alone.”

Sebastian nods though the smirk on his face hints that he might know better.

Blaine had asked Kurt to marry him on the staircase at Dalton over a year ago, so suffice it to say it had been a long engagement. After months and months of hinting and pestering by Blaine, making ridiculous references to biological clocks, and constantly whining about how, “Mercedes and Sam finally tied the knot, when are we?” Kurt finally set a date.

More like he bought them two tickets to Vegas to elope and invited anyone they knew who wanted to tag along. Blaine sent out a massive Facebook post and by the time they arrived at the airport, Sam, Artie, Noah, Jake, and Ryder were all there waiting for them. They checked in at their hotel and had an all-day impromptu bachelor party. It was fun, kind of like senior ditch day at McKinley, hitting the different attractions and seeing the shows, riding the Insanity and the X-Scream on top of the Stratosphere Hotel until he thought he was going to scream himself hoarse, all with the wedding looming over him like a dangling sword.

By the late afternoon he was lukewarm about the whole ordeal, and afraid he might be getting cold feet. He even hid out in a public restroom and called Carole for some good old-fashioned mother/son advice. She calmed him down in that soothing motherly way of hers that Kurt had fallen in love with almost instantly when they first met. When he got off the phone he had been fine, and ready to get started with his new life.

The cold feet returned, and by that evening, Kurt’s feet had gone positively frigid.

Their afternoon of frolic and fun ended at some gay strip club on what was apparently ‘Go-Go Boy Night’.

Kurt had spotted Sebastian the moment they walked in. He was tall, muscular, oiled up, and dancing in a cage.

The group of them danced and drank, though Kurt stuck to his signature Shirley Temples so Blaine could have his token beer. He was pretty sure Jake and Noah were taking ecstasy from the way they started touching everybody and everything around them. The Go-Go dancers were released from their cages to mingle with the crowd, and Kurt had begun to relax enough to consider enjoying himself.

Eli tipped the scales and sent Kurt into an alcoholic whirlwind, and not only the mention of him. That would have turned Kurt’s stomach, but he would have let it go and been fine. No. The motherfucker actually had the balls to show up. Kurt had always suspected that Eli still trolled Blaine’s Facebook account, either with or without Blaine’s knowledge. Kurt didn’t feel the need to check up on Blaine’s social media usage. Why should he since vows and promises had been made, and contracts from the Oprah website signed. Kurt should have had no reason not to trust his fiancé. With barely an introduction, Eli and Blaine moved to a booth to talk over ‘old times’ (though Kurt couldn’t imagine how what was touted as a meaningless one-night stand could be termed ‘old times’). This was roughly about the same time Kurt started binging. He remembered downing the first three shots with his hands clasped behind his back. After that, things got kind of hazy.

“What the fuck happened?” Kurt asks under his breath, not expecting an answer.

“Well, I think these can help fill in some of the holes,” Sebastian says, holding up a few yellow slips of paper that look like speeding tickets.

“What are those?” Kurt wraps his arms around his waist for support, knowing he’s most likely not going to like the answer.

“They look like citations from the police…” Sebastian holds them up one at a time as he explains. “This is for making too much noise. This is for public nudity. And this…” Sebastian smirks and nods his head, “is for punching the manager of the hotel. It looks like he decided not to press charges, though.”

“You punched the manager of the hotel?” Kurt says, his mouth agape.

“No, princess,” Sebastian chuckles, “you did. Your name is Kurt, right?”

“Oh holy hell.” Kurt grabs his hair in both hands and drops back down to the bed, two actions that should have been considered very carefully and then rejected before they were actually carried out because now more than ever he feels everything he’s ever eaten since the eighth grade fighting to be free of his stomach.

“Oops, here you go, soldier.” Sebastian rushes over with an empty waste bucket and puts it between Kurt’s legs. Kurt takes a few deep breaths but manages to quell the flood of vomit before it makes an appearance.

“Thanks,” Kurt says, looking up into the grass green eyes of the admittedly gorgeous man standing naked before him, which prompts another humiliating realization. Kurt looks down his body to check.

Yup. He’s naked.

“I’m amazed they didn’t kick us out,” Kurt says, eager to change the subject, at least in his own mind, of his current state of dress. The urge to vomit may be gone for the time being, but he feels bile rise to his mouth as he finally acknowledges that, yes, he and Sebastian were…intimate with each other.

Sebastian picks up another piece of paper, a print out, and laughs.

“It looks like they did.” He holds the print out up for Kurt to see. Kurt squints at it, but the print is too small to read, especially when the words insist on chasing each other like cats and mice all over the page.

“What does it say?”

“It looks like this is a bill from the Hilton,” Sebastian explains.

“So?” Kurt says. “That’s where we’re…where Blaine and I are booked.”

“But we’re at the Marriott.” Sebastian grabs a towel from off the back of a chair and tosses it to Kurt. Kurt lets it fall into his lap instead of making a move to catch it. He opens the towel up on his knees and there at the edge, embossed in large block letters, is the name ‘MARRIOTT’. Sebastian peers down at the page, reading the bill all the way to the end. “And in the notes at the bottom it says that we are, and I quote, _permanently banned from the Hilton family of hotels_.”

“Oh holy hell,” Kurt moans again, wondering how exactly one gets banned from a hotel. He scoffs. Evidently by being loud, nude, and punching the manager.

“Jesus Christ!” Sebastian exclaims. “The ban is international!”

Kurt doesn’t know what to do. He has to find Blaine. He has to make sure that he’s okay. He has to apologize.

He stops and backs up the moment the thought enters his head. Why should he apologize? This sure as hell didn’t start with him. It started with Blaine and his stupid decision to cheat. If Eli hadn’t shown up last night, Kurt wouldn’t have started doing shots, and then maybe, just maybe he’d be lying in bed with his fiancé preparing for his wedding instead of at the Marriott with a go-go dancer.

Kurt turns to the table by the bedside in search of his phone and eyes the clock.

1:45 p.m.

His wedding was at noon! He missed his wedding. Kurt clenches his teeth, running a hand through his hair, and feels something hard knock against his forehead. He pulls his hand out of the tangled mess and looks at his fingers splayed wide. A gold ring winks back at him, resting on his left ring finger as if it had always been there. Kurt spins it around on his finger, staring at it as if it is some frightening alien parasite, and grows even more confused.

“But, I got married.” Kurt looks around the room, his brow knitting together. Was there a chance that Blaine was in the room with them, passed out on the floor, in the bathroom perhaps? Kurt hadn’t moved more than two feet at the most, so that was still a possibility. Maybe they had met up later in the evening and gone to one of those drive-thru chapels. Maybe they had gotten married with Elvis as the officiant. For some reason he feels that his dad would greatly approve of that. Maybe they met back up with Sebastian and the three of them had celebrated?

“Uh, Kurt?” Sebastian says, breaking his concentration.

“What?” Kurt snaps. He’s trying to recall anything from the night before, and seeing as his mind only has enough capacity at the moment to process one thing at a time, he would rather not be disturbed. He turns his head toward the man who is now completely dressed – dark wash jeans hugging his legs; a long, grey designer t-shirt with some retro band design artfully faded on the front, and a pair of stylish Doc Martens which Kurt can appreciate because he owns about ten of the same pair in various different colors. Kurt looks the man over from head to toe and back again. Too bad he’s married. He wouldn’t mind a repeat performance of whatever happened last night at a time when he can actually remember it. Maybe when he finally finds where in the hotel room Blaine has stashed himself he’ll pluck up the courage to ask.

“Where did you get a change of clothes?”

Kurt doesn’t remember a lot about being at the club, but he is pretty sure Sebastian was wearing a pair of gold boy shorts and a mesh tank top.

“I had a change of clothes with me at the club,” Sebastian says with a shrug. “You don’t know fear until you walk the streets of Vegas after midnight in a pair of ‘fuck me’ shorts.”

Kurt nods lazily and Sebastian rolls his eyes.

“Look, this is getting really awkward, and I don’t do awkward, so I’m just going to go,” he says, bending over to tie up his shoes.

“Yeah, sure.” Kurt says. “Is there anything…anything else I owe you?” Kurt wants to drop dead the moment the words pass his lips. Sebastian smirks, but waves a hand.

“Nah, we’re straight,” he assures Kurt, heading straight for the door like he’s late for an appointment, which he might be since Kurt realizes he has no idea what else Sebastian does with his life. Sebastian stops at the door and glances one last time at Kurt, frowning at the lost and distraught look on his face. “For what it’s worth, I hope Prince Charming is here somewhere. If you see him, tell him I had an awesome time.”

“Thanks,” Kurt says with a humorless laugh, not looking up to meet Sebastian’s eyes. Sebastian walks out the door, closing it carefully shut behind him.

Kurt counts to ten and waits before he makes another attempt at getting up. When he pushes off the bed, he finds his limbs are stiff, but his head is much clearer. He walks into the bathroom, surveying the rooms as he passes through for any sign that Blaine’s been there. He examines the ring on his finger more closely. It’s gold – yellow gold. But if he remembers correctly (which he honestly doesn’t) he thought Blaine said the rings he picked out for them were titanium. Kurt turns on the cold water and splashes his face, shivering as drops fly over his shoulders and roll down his back. He soaks his face over and over until he’s replaced the pain in his head with the bite of ice-cold water on his skin. He turns off the faucet and reaches for a hand towel on the counter, but his hand comes in contact with another piece of paper. He squeegees his face with a swipe of his hand and looks at the paper more carefully. It appears to be another citation, folded in half and sitting on the counter top. Kurt reaches over and picks it up, not too eager to unfold it and find out what other damage they did at the Hilton. Peeing in the pool? Stripping in the lobby? Or worse, having sex in the elevator?

He sits down on the toilet to keep from falling over while he reads the yellow sheet of paper. It’s a receipt for a wedding license. Makes sense since Kurt was put in charge of getting one. Kurt reads down the page, looking away and blinking every few seconds as the print swims in his view. He desperately tries to latch on to the words and make sense out of them.

‘Mr. and Mr. Hummel.’

It’s supposed to read, ‘Mr. and Mr. Anderson-Hummel.’

Kurt looks the page over, trying to pinpoint Blaine’s name anywhere but he can’t. Another name leaps out at him and he swallows thickly, a new wave of nausea crashing down on him, threatening to drag him under, except this time he feels like he’s going to faint.

Mr. and Mr. Hummel.

Mr. Kurt Hummel and Mr. _Sebastian Smythe_ -Hummel.

 _Holy shit_ …


End file.
